


all this space between (us)

by IseultOfIreland



Category: Chicago Med
Genre: F/M, Light Angst, au i guess, set during 4x13
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-16
Updated: 2019-02-16
Packaged: 2019-10-29 16:46:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17811704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IseultOfIreland/pseuds/IseultOfIreland
Summary: A slip of the blade. A conversation.ORHow this mess of a storyline should have been handled.





	all this space between (us)

In the aftermath, Ava doesn’t remember rushing out of the operating room. It’s as if one second she was there, heartbeat whooshing in her ears, and the next she was outside in the scrub room, following protocol. Taking off the gloves, taking off the gown, dousing her hands in betadine and scrubbing and scrubbing until they were a sickly orange color, until she was scared she was going to scrub her skin raw. Until she couldn’t see the cut anymore.

(And if her hands shook it wasn’t because this patient is HIV-positive and contracting HIV would ruin her career and really what does she have left now that isn’t her career, who is she if she can’t hold a scalpel—no, it wasn’t because of that, because she can’t think about that, not then and not now, or she’ll go crazy.)

Ava takes her first dose of PEP and tries to listen as a doctor lists side-effects, but they are numerous, varied, and unfailingly unpleasant. The words start to sound muffled and far-off, the soundtrack to a foreign movie that she doesn’t quite understand. Everything feels sluggish and surreal. So she assures the doctor that she isn’t pregnant—something about DTG-based pills that could cause neural tube defects—and takes her medicine. 

Eventually, she tunes in to hear the doctor say, “I’ll call you in when I get your test results back. You’ll need to be tested again in 4 weeks. If your results come back negative, I can clear you for surgery.”

Ava nods. She doesn’t ask what happens if the results are positive.

She listens to the tick-tock, loud tick-tick-tock of the wall clock and the echoing footsteps of people as they walk past the doctor’s lounge. She tries to convince Goodwin that she’s fine and fails miserably, of course.

And the hours drag on, agonizingly slowly, but she doesn’t let herself think of how her career might be over (that’ll just make her desperate) or how Connor believes she slept with his father (that’ll just make her angry) or how she wants her mother (that’ll just make her cry). 

It’s somehow easier to just sit in the dark and focus on the tick-tick, tick-tock of the passing hours or the steady beep… beep of the monitor in the room next door. If Ava focuses on this quiet symphony of overlooked sounds, she doesn’t have to think about how quickly her life is spiraling out of control.

She’s pacing when Connor walks in, wearing the hangdog expression of someone who accidentally shot a kitten. Ava looks around for a way out, because the last thing she wants to do right now is deal with his trust issues and misplaced guilt, but he’s already in the room. It seems like the only way out is through.

So she looks at him, waits. 

“I’m so sorry, Ava. I hurt you and now—”

“Not your fault.” He opens his mouth to argue and she fights the urge to roll her eyes, hurrying on before he can interrupt, “I was distracted, and maybe you were, too, but I shouldn’t have reached for that tray. It was my fault.”

“Well, at least let me look at your hand.” She shakes her head and starts to move away from him, but he takes hold of her uninjured hand, “Ava, I still care about you.” 

“Care?” She scoffs, the word harsh and bitter on her tongue as she pulls her hand away. “You don’t get to care about me now. You can’t decide to turn your feelings on and off when it’s convenient.”

“That’s not fair. You know I—”

Her voice carries over his, tone so cold he stops midsentence. “You didn’t believe me.” She looks at him like a kicked puppy, eyes wide and full of hurt. “Worse, you believed your father over me, and he’s manipulated you your whole life.”

A brief pause, as she tries to articulate what hurts her the most about the whole messed-up situation, “You thought I slept with him and you wouldn’t even hear my side of the story. You wouldn’t even tell me what was wrong.” 

“I shouldn’t have gone to him before asking you. But you lied to me about the patient, about my father donating to the hybrid room… I didn’t know if I could believe you.” 

She turns to walk away, tired of retreading the same ground.

“Wait,” he says softly, and maybe that’s what makes her stop. Maybe part of her still cares enough to hear him out. His expression is earnest and a little desperate, “I was wrong. I should have trusted you.” 

Ava raises her hand to brush her hair back in frustration—he didn’t trust her; doesn’t he see that’s the issue here—forgetting about the injury then wincing in pain. Connor reaches out automatically to help her, fingers stopping just shy of touching her. Her eyes flash in warning: don’t. 

“Look–” Ava starts, pausing as she tries to make sense of what she wants to say. After a second she continues, voice thick with emotion (and oh, how she hates that. How she wishes she could be cold and aloof, but she’s never been able to keep her walls up around him and maybe that’s the problem), “I care about you.”

Then softly, so softly Connor has to strain to hear it, “I loved you. He never has. And you still took his word over mine.”

“I know, but—” 

“Connor, you didn’t believe me. You didn’t even ask me for an explanation, which means you don’t trust me, much less care about me.”

“Ava, please. You know that’s not true. Can you just hear me out?”

She raises her eyebrows, expression clear: do you hear yourself? Do you see the irony? 

Her voice is measured, face carefully blank when she says, “I’ll forgive you for cutting my hand, because the fault was mine.” She sees his expression, feels compelled to add, “Really. Don’t blame yourself.”

“But I can’t deal with this right now, okay? My career might be over.” Ava pauses, tries to absorb that vitally important bit of information she hasn’t let herself consider. “And you hurt me—no, not with the scalpel—and I know. You have trust issues because of your messed-up father, and whatever happened with Robin.”

He just looks at her for a while—and seeing the pain in those blue eyes is almost enough to change her mind—but she doesn’t say anything, doesn’t move. Then finally, he says, “I’m so, so sorry. For doubting you and going to my father. I should have trusted you, and I didn’t. After Robin—”

His voice catches, and he realizes he doesn’t really know where that sentence was going. After Robin, I think all my girlfriends will go crazy and leave? After Robin, my trust issues increased twofold?

Whatever he meant, Ava understands some part of it. “I know. But, Connor, I can’t do this.” After a beat, she adds, “Not right now.”

“Okay. If there’s anything I can do, if you want me to talk to Goodwin or…” he shrugs, “anything.”

“Thank you, but I have meds to take.”

She walks out before he can say anything else, leaving him standing there.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! The title for this fic comes from the musical Ordinary Days, specifically the song "Gotta Get Out" (though there's also a song in the musical called "The Space Between").
> 
> And I don't mean to imply that this is the way this storyline should have gone, just that there's a billion ways the writers could have handled it and the one they chose was probably the worst.


End file.
